


Blood and Honor

by TheFallenStar



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Angst, BAMF Daenerys Targaryen, Based off of season seven rewrite, But also feel free to enjoy, Canon-Typical Behavior, Canon-Typical Sexual Content, Canon-Typical Violence, Character Death, Child Death, Daenerys takes King's Landing, Dark Magic, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/F, F/M, Happy Ending, I just want the story to have a good (Not necessarily happy) ending, Jon Snow is a Targaryen, Light Magic, M/M, Magic is returning to Westeros, Motives?, Multiple Pairings, Night King is still a threat, OR IS IT, Original Character Death(s), Original Character(s), POV Multiple, Queen Daenerys, Queen Sansa, Rewrite, Rider is 'young griff' Aegon, Slow Burn, Sorcerers, Story will focus on the kids and the future, Targaryen Dynasty, Targaryen Kids, Viserion is alive, Writing this for me, exploring the world, fuck D&D, stark kids, two Aegons, winter is coming, winter is here
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-07
Updated: 2019-11-07
Packaged: 2021-01-24 19:24:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,422
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21343450
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheFallenStar/pseuds/TheFallenStar
Summary: This is a rewrite that is fueled off the rage of what D&D did to the last season of Game of Thrones. Rushing it off and assassinating character quality.This is the story of the rise of the Targaryen dynasty, branching away from season seven's end to a complete re-write of Season 8. This story is a conclusion of Ice and fire, as the embers burn anew, so does ice grow in the shadows of the flame. The Iron throne is now the source of power, but questions are yet left unanswered, the meaning of the runes, the conflict of the sorcerers, the political landscape of two lands in need. Will the combined might of the dragon and the wolf now foster new allies in the war to come. The battle of the throne was just the beginning, but now Winter is Here, the long night is nigh. The heirs of ash, and the spawn of the wolves must now combine their strengths to fight the war around them. Magic, both light and dark have seeped back into Westeros, now there will be Fire and Blood. Winter has Come, and Fire will Reign.
Relationships: Arianne Martell/Aegon VI Targaryen, Asher Forrester/Sansa Stark, Jon Snow/Daenerys Targaryen
Comments: 6
Kudos: 7





	1. Tyrion

The evening sun spread across the horizon, a sea of lavender and crimson hues bleeding into the skyline over Blackwater Bay, ebbing and fading into the deep contrast of the midnight waters.   
“If you believe the stories, the songs of Ice and Fire, this would not be the sight we could see.” A lulled voice carried over the shrieks of the gulls and other birds of the sea. “Those songs would tell you a tale of how Daenerys Targaryen, the Mad Queen, the Beggar Queen, sailed across the Narrow Sea, and laid waste to Kings Landing. How she became the Queen of Ashes, killing thousands of innocents, losing two of her three Dragons. How she ruled with fear and was betrayed by those who were closes to her.  
How sad she must have been in those final days, in the last seconds of her rule. To love something that death can touch is a terrible fate, a cursed fate is always tied to those of the blood of Valyria. She had realized, in her first hours in the North, she did not have the love of the people. Yes, in Essos, the kingdom of Mereen, the slaves she had freed, the broken chains held her as their queen, but in the cold North, the people only saw a foreigner trying to command them to bend the knee to her rule.  
The dragon queen had lost not only one of her dragons in the few short months in Westeros, but also her claim. Everything she had strived for dashed away by the revelation of long kept secrets and old blood. She loses her closest advisor and friend. One who was devoted to her from the beginning, not for her power, nor because of her dragons, but because he loved her, unerring loyalty. The man she trusted fully, not only for council but for temperance. He dies in her arms protecting her in a war she must fight.   
The loss of a second child, a strike of impunity against her. Ironborn sailors, braggarts to the last. The murderous self-proclaimed king of the Iron Isles. Lancing her dragon, her child through, watching as he falls dead into the sea. Taking her sister, her advisor, her paramour amongst the countless adversities of her life, giving her to the Lion Queen, Cersei of House Lannister.   
Daenerys moves to bargain for her friend, and the Queen beheads her, dashing away the last chance at peace that could have been taken. Innocent blood spilled, and her words carried a terrible fate.  
Dracarys.  
Words that I know that you have learned.  
Then she loses her advisors: through blatant betrayal, no less, Jon betrays her by telling his blood, the blood shares secrets of his birth and claim to the throne, and her advisers openly conspire against her. Those she thought she could trust poison her not only through mind but in flesh. There is an execution without trial, death of spider by dragon fire. She teeters the brink.  
Far many more people loved Jon, Aegon, the bastard snow. He was King in the North; he had the love of the people. The Dragon queen only had fear.  
He took her heart, took her people, her glories, her people, the hidden male heir to Iron Throne. He said he had bent the knee, that she would always be her queen, but he could not bring himself to love her, so she loses that which held her.”  
Embers of the fire crackled, sputtering almost with life. The braziers illuminating the deep velvet banners of the study. Tyrion reclined in his desk and mused to himself, “There is a saying, when a Targaryen in born into the world the gods flip a coin, madness on one side, greatness on the other, and the world waits on bated breath to see on which side the coin would land. She came to conquer, but she gave to people, they took and took. They took her children, her dearest loves, her loyal army, her khalasar, her achievements as their own, her legacy, they took it all, and left her alone in the world…well…A Targaryen alone in the world is a terrible thing.  
Every single moment in her life had led her to this point. She had won this war, and in the moments of the ringing bells, she had decided to make this personal. She ultimately was alone, and the victory rings hollow. Daenerys Stormborn of house Targaryen, words, Fire and Blood. In only moments she had raised King’s Landing low, dragon fire and wildfire burning and consuming the city, the keep destroyed. Ash fell like snow, coating the ruins of the dead city, and in the final moments the she faced one last betrayal. Her love, Aegon, became queen slayer, stabbing her in the heart.  
The conquest of Aegon the I and Balerion ended by Daenerys the Mad queen and Drogon.”  
“Yes, yes, Lord Tyrion, and the Vipers of Dorne let our family fall to ruin.”  
“The children should know what the people think Lady Ellaria.”  
“I know what they think, all ideas are like weeds, a poison that can rot, so it must be culled before it can spread. The children have no illusions of what the commonwealth spread. As our Queen has been told before,” said Ellaria with a stern glance to her queen, “The lords of Westeros are sheep. Are you all sheep?”  
Ellaria looked over the room, smirking to herself in her age and wisdom. She had survived the war, watched as her home rose to power, the vipers of Dorne protecting the young heir of Sunspear, and the cycled continued anew. A great many men had died, but here, she saw as a great woman had rose to throne and taken power. Six heads of silver, the smallest in swaddling clothes held in her arms, one of chestnut, sat around the room. The rebirth of the blood of Valyria, a surrogate for the daughters she lost.  
“No, you are dragons, so be dragons.”  
Daenerys shifted, rising from a wooden seat, resting her hand on Ellaria’s shoulder. The aging woman still fair, her skin kissed by the sun, dressed in sand-washed silk dyed with saffron, Deep sienna viper skin hugged her frame, serpents coiling around a sun and spear. Her outfit suitable to the coast of the South, yet a shawl now wrapped around her shoulders for warmth. But upon her wrist was a twisting band of silver shaped into a triskelion of dragons.  
“Take heart Lady Ellaria, with the wise tutelage of yourself and my hand, I worry less and less for their perception.”  
Tyrion glanced up, filling his glass with wine, “As you say my Queen.”  
“Uncle Tyrion,” pipped a small voice, “You know we aren’t children anymore.”  
“Lyanna, you and your cousins will always be children to me.”  
The young girl smiled lightly as she worked with needle and thread. she was a young vibrant beauty, a mere twelve years of age. She and her twin brother Aemon were the youngest of the Targaryen bloodline, save for their little sister, and the only children of Daenerys and Jon Snow, or as he was known to those closest to him, Aegon. Lyanna had her mother’s silver hair, but her father’s dark eyes. Her silverite curls were full, tied back in elaborate braids. She was young and courteous, the beauty of King’s landing. She was every bit as headstrong as her father but carried the fire and spirit of her mother.  
Aemon sat next to her, lazily musing with a dagger and an apple; he was her equal in almost every way. Inseparable. His hair was pale gold, shorn short to keep it from falling in his eyes. His face was strong, but his eyes were soft and betrayed his moods, the deep pools of pale lavender open for the world to read. Aemon held himself well, but he was simple, kind, a mere spindle of a boy, just now able to raise a blade. He strived to be a knight, a warrior of virtue. But his mind was still young, and he was eager to learn.  
“I agree with my sister Uncle Tyrion, we may be the youngest dragons, but we are dragons none the same. It is my wish that we continue to help rebuild.”  
“And how would you suggest we do that,” asked the Hand.  
“Well, during the conquering of the six kingdoms, the old regime of the queensguard, the city watch, and the royal army was destroyed. Yes, our mother took the city, but lives were still lost.”  
“That comes with any change in power,” snipped a sardonic voice.  
“Naerys! Be nice to Aemon,” shot Lyanna.  
“I am, but I am being realistic. What would you imagine Aunt Dany doing; going up to the Mad Lion Queen and asking her to give the city? She had three dragons and the backing of the second largest kingdom in Westeros.”  
“That she did,” added Ellaria, “And she was right to do so. She struck the city and claimed the keep without unwarranted bloodshed. She sent envoy to the city, asking them to ring the bells and surrender. Too much of a warning, in my humbled opinion,” Ellaria glared at Tyrion, “But she gave them a choice bend the knee…or burn.”  
“Your father has told you countless times, I was not what he was expecting, I was not, nor am I now a timid queen,” added Daenerys.  
Naerys smiled, “Yes, he has Aunt Dany. He said that he was going to lay his claim as the eldest Targaryen heir, and with a viable heir of his own in a son, but then you threatened to burn him to ash with Viserion, and he bent the knee. Now he and Viserion a near attached. He tells us that story constantly as a lesson, and as a reminder of how he was married to our mother. Which again sealed our alliance with Dorne.”  
“This one has her wits about her,” scoffed Ellaria, “I like her.”  
Naerys smiled wickedly. She was the second eldest of the Targaryen blood. Her face was beautiful and hard, large deep amethyst eyes, with deep ashen locks. She was a buxom and beautiful woman of seventeen, and she knew it too. Her voice was thick and dripped with amber, her skin kissed by the sun, Dornish like her mother. She was calculating like her mother, and all the fierce wit of a brilliant strategist, but it was her poise as a fighter where she stood. The middle of three children, two of whom were brothers, made her stand tall and proud.   
Her brothers laughed and she turned to them smiling. The three of them were the called the heads of the dragon, not only for their wit, but their cunning and tenacity.  
“But my question still stands,” called Tyrion, “Aemon?”  
The boy pondered, “Well, Dorne is suppling us with men, as well as our holding in Essos, so I would suggest that rebuilding our armies and training our knights would bolster the kingdom. We also, could bring in a thousand more Unsullied from Mereen.”  
“What of our people, the poor and starving, the city is recovering from the wildfire, what of the religious, our allies and their armies, the Queen in the North?”  
“Well…um… We have trade, Highgarden helps with food and labor now that the Tarlys are its Lords, the Westerland’s having our backing in gold thanks to yourself and your brother’s remaining family, we have the people’s hearts, the savior queen, and we are rebuilding the Great Sept of Baelor.”  
“But this is all too slow, and you and your family are the usurpers, we have debts to pay, the Iron bank demands their due, and a Lannister always pays his debts.”  
Dany gave the small man a concerned look, but Tyrion simply nodded and raised his hand to give him a moment.  
“If the masses move to us, we have dragons. Celtigar may be too small to ride, but he would defend me, he is as large as a lion now. Eleven dragons no matter their size is unstoppable.”  
“You’re wrong.”  
The room went silent.  
Aemon turned to see his eldest cousin give him a disappointed look.   
“Dragons can die just like the rest. Meraxes died, shot out of the sky. Their scales may be hard, but their eyes are soft. Even Drogon was able to be wounded by spear when he was young, in the arenas of Mereen. As Lord Tyrion said, how sad it is to love something that death can touch.”  
Ellaria turned towards the boy, “And your solution to his problem, as you sit here brooding like a small child. You presume to know better?”  
The young man stared down his family, “Our words were Fire and Blood, now they are Fire and Honor. We rule with both, honor the people, but they are sheep as you say. We are the dragons. But even the best of us can die at their hands. We rule, but we will never forget what they call us.   
Never forget what we are, the world will not and that way we can use it as armor to shield ourselves from it.”  
Tyrion smiled slyly as he drank.  
“We are calling a landsmeet to talk with Queen Sansa, and the lords of Westeros. But this is a show of not only cooperation, but a display of power, that is why we are called here now, isn’t that right Lady Ellaria.”  
The woman grinned.  
“There is no right answer Aemon, so don’t worry over too many things or you miss the whole picture.” The elder boy smiled at him, a softness in his eyes, but a cunning behind them. “The realm. Keep the peace, and the world goes back to normal. We are Targaryens, the Princes and Princesses of Ash. But ash can both suffocate or grow. That is why we are raised as we are, training in Dorne with our dragons, but visiting the other kingdoms on good faith. Naerys, Daemon, and I have dragons that can carry us, give it another year cousin, then you can come fly to the other kingdoms as well.”  
“Aerion,” spoke Daenerys, “you see much.”  
“As your prince, and your ward I intend to see all. I am no Three-eyed-Raven of the North, but I know my people, our people.”  
Daenerys looked at the man before her. Aerion Targaryen. He was a young man of eighteen years. Her grandnephew. His face was angular and handsome, his hair deep brown like his mother’s in thick russets. This beardless boy could have any maid, fear of his name or no. His piercing deep violet eyes would melt any woman’s heart. Dany smiled to herself, this is what Rhaegar must have been like. Kind and strong. Loving yet somber. She had heard from her spies that Aerion tended to sneak out from the Red Keep, visiting the slums of the city, singing songs with the minstrels and helping the orphanages. All the while, wearing the title of “Prince of Ash.” It was these reasons that she had spoken to her council, and it was decided that he was the heir to her throne, the iron throne. Though, this was unspoken to him.  
“I suspect that you do. Please, do try to refrain from sneaking out of the keep.”  
Aerion stiffened.  
“It would do us no good to have your hurt or attacked alone. But I am not here to lecture you. That is Tyrion’s or your Father’s job. Speaking of which, he and Jon should be arriving shortly, and we have much to discuss before the landsmeet.”  
Aerion sighed and took a seat next to the fire as the rest of his family was called towards Tyrion’s desk. Black soot stained the edges of the mantle as the flames crackled and hissed. Aerion watched the flames as they danced, the wood popping and a small char flung free from the logs. The cinder began to char the woolen rug and without thinking, Aerion snatched the ember up, throwing it back into the fire.   
He stared at his hands confused for a moment, flexing them, before glancing up at his family. The Targaryens and council distracted in their own talks; only Daenerys staring at him with an expression that he could not place.


	2. Daenerys

Daenerys walked down the halls of the Red keep, Tyrion hobbling behind her. Daenerys slowed her pace as the older man’s stunted legs now required him to walk with a cane.   
“It appears Queen Sansa has found a husband.”  
Daenerys nodded. “It makes sense for her, given the fact that she officially annulled your marriage. A shame really, you would have made a great King of the North.” Daenerys smiled and laughed softly.  
“The Northerners would sooner have my head on a pike than the Dwarf Lannister for their king. Besides, I have had my journey North, I’ve pissed off the edge of the wall. I find that the cold does not agree with me.”  
The pair shared a laughed, then Daenerys inquired, “Who are her options?”  
“Lord Blackwood had been pushing his eldest, Brynden. She took it under consideration since Tytos is her Hand of the Queen. But my people told me she had been looking towards the Vale.”  
“Was she actually considering Lord Robin?” Daenerys asked, laughing truly, a rare light smile on her lips.  
“I think she pushed against that arrangement. She already has his ear, he looks at her as a mother figure, since she looks so much like his mother. No, I thought she was looking at the Royces. The Royces and Starks are related, and I believed the queen would like to shore up her support. She may actually give a branch of the Royces the former Bolton lands.”  
Daenerys scowled. Sansa technically was Queen of the North only. But she had a strong influence on her uncle Edmure at Riverrun and on her cousin Robin in the Vale. Not only that, but Lord Blackwood of the Riverlands was a part of her court. Essentially, she had nominal control over two major portions of the Six Kingdoms, and it was starting to chafe some of the lords of the South. Giving the Royces the Bolton lands would only increase her power.  
“So, must you leave me in suspense, grasping at straws, who is the esteemed husband of the Queen in the North.”  
“Sansa officially committed to the marriage of Asher Forrester, the Lord of Ironwrath.”  
Dany paused for a moment, remembering the brash blond sell sword who had once reassured her about Drogon’s safety.   
“Is that not the man who-”  
“Yes, he was the father of her one-time bastards. They wed, and her two eldest Robb and Catelyn were naturalized and are now the children of the North. The Forresters were the bannorn of the Starks, but after your conquest, they were one of the only surviving houses. Lord Asher’s youngest brother Ryon and his sister Talia serve as the Lord and Matron of Ironwrath.”  
Daenerys nodded, the thought of Sansa growing in strength troubles her. Did they know something the south did not? Cold and frigid winds grew as the days passed. Jon reminded her often that the Night King was still a threat, the past winter lasting twelve years, and this summer short.  
She worried; she had won the Iron throne. Only after the repairs of the siege of King’s Landing had made some headway did she begin to look to the threat of the North. Her nephew had returned to her during the conquest, Arianne heavy with child, then she had Aerion; content with him carrying on the Targaryen lineage, she only halted the siege North of the wall when she had found herself with child, now children. She had to raise them, let them grow, for the threat north of the wall, was not only a threat to her, but a threat to children centuries to come. The vision of the house of the undying replayed in her mind.  
The throne in reach but covered in snow, or her child, a future bright. She chose her children, though, the conquest of the Night King loomed, Dany knew that she had to choose her family, her children over the complete control of the throne. She had lost so much, she did not want to risk the lives of her children to come, she had already almost lost Viserion and Rhaegal to bolts from the scorpions. The two dragons suffering wounds during the siege.  
“My queen, I know that look. As long as he lives, the Night King poses a threat to all, but I believe that Sansa will be forthcoming at the landsmeet. She is your warden and Queen in the North.”  
“She still despises me.”  
“She is has softened in the past decade my Queen.”  
“It is Jon who she holds love for, make no mistake. Jon and our children, but if they were gone, she would march against me, and lead the whole of the North, the Vale, and the Riverlands.”  
Tyrion sighed, “Well, there is nothing to do, but await our guests.”  
“Yes,” agreed Daenerys, “Please see to them, I have some business to attend to.”  
With that Daenerys gave Tyrion a small nod, leaving him in one of the winding halls. She walked through the Keep, glancing at the walls, eyeing the cracks and mortar chipping. The faint scars of the terror of the siege. Cersei Lannister falling from grace in the mirror of her father’s madness. Wildfire had ravaged the city, the pale green flames consuming Dothraki, Unsullied, civilian, and Lannister man alike. In her final moments Cersei, would see the city fall at her hands; the flames raising the entirety of the Street of Steel when the bells of surrender sounded. Visenya’s hill gouged with deep scars that are only now beginning to heal.  
Daenerys moved along, listening to the sounds of the evening. The last of the fading embers of twilight scattering across the bay. Leaving the keep, Daenerys mounted her horse and rode through a postern gate, waving off several unsullied that began to follow her. She hurried her horse riding through the side streets, near the main thoroughfare. The Street of Sisters bustling with evensong. The minstrels out peddling their voices, but their song paled in comparison to the song of the dragons that soared overhead.   
The air buffeted, ringing out with the cries of the great serpents. Leading the way as Daenerys rode towards the pit. Dragons flying through the air filled Dany with a small sense of pride, her children, though she had two with Jon, her children with Drogo brought back the glory of Valyria past. The people were, at first, apprehensive of the dragons living in King’s landing, but as they proved to be docile and not the monsters that Cersei had painted them to be, the world grew used to the presence.   
This was not without their struggles, with the growing number of dragons, and the lasting winters, the common folk began to fear for the starvation of the people. But Aerion proved to be of aid, He flew his dragon Akrhael, over the frozen fields. With dragonfire, Aerion, who was twelve at the time, raised the land, burning away the frozen stagnant earth. With the coming spring the once frigid land, sprung anew. This was known, to the commonwealth, as the Dragon’s Spring. Aerion coined his name, knowing what the people saw him as, he was the Prince of Ash. Akrhael was of a cluster belonging to Drogon. His scales shimmered, most of them pewter and silver, but his horns, wing bones and crests were the color of clouded ivory. Akrhael was a visage of pallid shadow. His teeth shining black daggers at the time of the spring, but now the length of small swords. He was called the white dragon but donned the moniker of the Ashen One.  
A whine from her horse drew Daenerys back from thought. He spurred her horse onward, racing through the winding streets and twisting wynds of the walkways. Making her way to the Dragon Pit.  
The pit was now an open colosseum; serving now as a roost for the dragons to shelter in, the sigil of the Targaryen emblazoned in red stone and wrought in steel. Dothraki bloodriders served as the newly formed dragonkeepers. Dany would not make the same mistakes of her ancestors, the younger dragons would be reigned into the Kings Landing, never chained, free to roam the pit and city, herded by the older wyrms, but the eldest dragons would fly from the collapsed dome, to come and go as they please. Dragonstone functioning as their main keep. The dragons could roam the island, taking to the skies and hunting as they pleased over the sea.   
Entering; dragons hissed and cried out to their matron. Some scaling the walls, other twisted unto themselves lying upon cinders. Drogon sat coiled resting in the back of the pit, the largest of their dragons. The very air around him radiating warmth like a raging forge. Over this decade he had continued to grow: his scales growing in thick obsidian plates, teeth the length of swords, wings now able to shroud leagues under shadow.  
Rhaegal and Viserion have grown similar to him in size with riders of their own, Jon and Aegon. The pair of them sitting sequestered away in hollowed out corners. Each of them parenting their brood, the first of her children now growing into the fearsome and powerful creatures of legend. This is what Balerion must have looked like with Meraxes and Vhagar. My children have grown so and have had children of their own.   
With thundering wings, Akrhael had landed, Aerion descending from his mount.  
“Aerion, it is good to see you. I see that you are off exploring without a guard, again.”  
“I-Yes Aunt Daenerys. I was,” sighed the boy with a sheepish grimace.  
Daenerys looked at him, noticing his expression, “Is there something the matter?”  
Aerion pulled his cloak tighter around him, “Aunt Daenerys, I needed to go for a ride. Needed to clear my head. The skies are growing colder as the months pass.”  
“What has you troubled so? Is it the landsmeet, or is it something else?” Daenerys dismounted her horse and walked over to Drogon, gently rubbing his snout.   
“Dreams.”  
“Dreams, sweet nephew?”  
“Yes, dreams of fire, and dragons. I see myself as a dragon, and I see dragons. I watch as I stand before them, hunger in their eyes. Their hot breath searing, but not unfamiliar. Blood on their maw and bits of flesh in their teeth.  
I am naked, or swathed in our sigil, I try to stand tall, but the very air seems to keep me still, my feet are bleeding and cracked on the dry arid sand. I can hear the sounds of their roars, as if they call out for me, the sound of crackling thunder rings out. A sea of flames reaches out licking at stone. I feel that if I am not resolute, the flames will consume me. Drogon stirs in the flames and the ashes dance in the air, an ashen dragon forms in the flames, its eyes were pools of molten fire, and when its maws opened, a searing jet of pale flame cut through the sea of black embers.  
The flames, they sing to me, and I let the flames reach me. I open my arms to them. The fire blackens my skin, but as it all burns away the pain is gone, and the fire leaves only ash.”  
Dany smiled to herself. These dreams a vague recollection of my own before Drogo.   
“And what of my hands, please, speak plainly, are we the unburnt.? I know that Daemon and father have suffered burns, but you saw in the study, I have hidden this, but I wonder, am I like you, am I the blood of the dragon truly?”  
“Only one way for you to know, truly,” called a sultry voice, “only fire can purify and remove doubt.” The strong voice carried from a swathe of crimson silk and gold brocade. A glittering blood red ruby cast off a warm glow on a gently neck. A golden collar hugged the throat of woman in red. “I have seen one queen rise from the ashes, fighting past the cold hands of death, R’hllor is a god of truth. For, no shadow of lies can exist in the light of the one true god.”  
Aerion eyes the woman warily.  
“Kinvara, you may preach the lord of light, but I serve no gods, none at least openly. I serve my truth in my own light.”  
“You do not need to be devout. Our lord acts with his true heralds, though you may not see it, you carry out his will.”  
“Ah yes, and it is through his will that the fire will bring life anew. I have heard your preaching and sermons all my life. I was raised on your sharp tongue and wicked wit.”  
The priestess smiled, resting her hands on the edge of a brazier.  
“Do you know what you must do?”  
Daenerys smiled, and took her nephews hand. “Do you trust me; I know that it may seem like madness, but our blood, Valyrian blood holds true. I have faith, do you trust your visions?”  
Dany could feel the boy tremble in her hands, but she held him strong. This could be the madness of our blood. She had dreamed of dragons and fire. Of blood and destruction. The first Aerion drank a goblet of wildfire and died screaming in agony as his flesh boiled from his bone. The words of Ser Barristan echoed in her mind, ‘I am no maestor to quote history at you, your Grace. But every child knows that the Targaryens have always danced too close to madness. Your father was not the first.’ Was this the curse of her line to dance with insanity, to heed dreams and demons instead of good sense.  
Daenerys watched as Kinvara stepped aside and Drogon stood, and Akrhael rose with him. She could see the fear and resolve in Aerion’s eyes. He was standing in the face of his dreams, his deepest nightmares. He must stand tall.  
“Remember my queen,” spoke Kinvara, “Only fire can purify.”  
Daenerys looked into the eyes of her nephew. Aerion. He was going to take the steps in the mirror of his ancestors. The young Targaryen took a deep breath, settling into his resolve before speaking.   
“Dracarys.”  
Drogon and Akrhael buffeted their wings, the pair roaring, their cries resounding in the pit. A furnace wind engulfed the pair, as silvery and crimson eyes focused on them. Dany could see their reflection the smoldering pits before them. How small they looked, yet how strong the pair stood. Two jets of flame burst forth, the very air crackling away as black and white flame danced around them.  
Dany could feel as her dress burned away, the flames scalding on her skin, yet she stood strong, her eyes burning and stinging in the wave of the heat that consumed them. Aerion’s had held tight, squeezing hers tightly. The flames grew, too hot to bare, and a single cry escaped from her dried lips, and then it was done. The flames were gone, and the dragons reclined.   
Dany opens her eyes; looking down at herself, her skin was kissed by flame, flushed, but unburnt. A single scar upon her breast, pallid in the rosy wash of her chest. She then looked to Aerion; the boy stood, naked but unburnt, his hands no longer trembling. His body was coated in a dusting of ash, skin pallid and flushed, a perfect image of a young man, his eyes unwavering, cool and deep amethyst in the fading embers. His hair now the palest of silver. No longer the dark lock of Dorne. Aerion was the image of the blood of Valyria.  
Kinvara stepped forward, Targaryen banners in her hands to cover them. She smiled; her pendant shone brightly like the morning sun. “Dorzalty, Unburnt. Arise Daenerys Stormborn Queen of the Flames. Arise Aerion Targaryen, Ashenborn, Prince of the Ashes.”  
Wrapped in the banners of her family, Daenerys stood and watched as her heir now became what he was, what he always had been. The blood of the dragon.

**Author's Note:**

> Hey Everyone, I hope that you enjoyed my new take. I just want to have fun with this, and would not mind having people pitch ideas, and help foster creativity. I just kinda went in without a plan, because, let's be real, anything is better than that garbage fire ending. I have a plot and and ideas in mind, but I love to talk to other about ideas, and support is always encouraged. I mean D & D gave us that mess and then bounced from StarWars. Like damn. All that wasted potential.  
Also, for those that follow me, no I haven't forgotten about my other fics, they are still being written. I haven't had a lot of spare time lately. I transferred schools, got engaged to my lovely fiance, his name is Andrew, I am finishing my science and music degrees so I can get ready for med school, and I have moved, and a wedding to plan. It has been busy af over here.   
Anyways I hope you enjoy and please feel free to comment and foster ideas. I really want to try to make a good end, plus write for a new audience, queer representation is key. Anyways, I hope this finds you well,  
TheFallenStar.


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